


the best laid plans

by Nibelung



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Beating, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Dark Leia Organa, Eye Gouging, Eye Sex, Eye Trauma, F/M, Gang Rape, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Leia is fucked up in the head, Leia would make a great Sith lbh, Luke and Leia aren't related, Major Character Injury, Seriously don't try any of this at home, Urination, and keeps asking for more, but it has a happy ending I guess, extremely dark fic, extremely unhealthy coping mechanisms, eye fucking, if you don't like gore don't read this, not a fic for the faint of heart or stomach, otherwise Leia really takes it on the chin, self-destructive Leia, she's kind of terrifying that way, that's one small mercy in this fic, watching your planet get blown to bits will do that to you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-20 14:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30006303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nibelung/pseuds/Nibelung
Summary: The latest threat from the Imperial war machine could obliterate the Rebel Alliance. Leia Organa comes up with a plan to stop it.It involves eye surgery. And worse things. But pain is something Leia is used to by now.Or, perhaps, addicted to.
Relationships: Leia Organa/Luke Skywalker
Kudos: 2





	1. the lightbringer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leia uses her well-practiced political guile.

“It’s bad,” Leia told the group assembled in the frigate’s cramped briefing room. “Worse than we’d expected, in fact. The Empire is so concerned about leaks they’re only giving their contractors small sections of the plan at any one time, on special time-delay datapads whose memory is wiped once a day.

“The only complete set of plans for the new Starkiller dreadnought is currently being held in the central computer core of the Alderaan high-security prison.”

“Alderaan?” Luke asked.

“Yes. But it’ll be nearly impossible for any of our agents to get in. They’ve greatly strengthened the security protocols since the last time.”

“Makes sense,” Han piped up. “Last time they had a security breach somebody ran off with a mouthy princess from the detention block, and the Rebels managed to blow up the Empire’s brand-new high-tech doomsday weapon with a single X-wing.”

“As I recall, that ‘mouthy princess’ saved the lives of her hapless and inexperienced rescuers,” Leia shot back, matching his snark. “But the way you and Luke got in last time won’t work now. All unauthorized ships approaching the Alderaan base are vaporized immediately. So no flying the _Falcon_ or some other ship in and pretending to be a derelict.

“The vessels going there that do have clearance beforehand are scanned for life-forms by TIEs as they come in. If the pilots find anybody extra or anybody missing from the number of occupants listed on the manifest, they blow them up instantly without even asking questions.

“Once the ship lands, everybody on the crew has to undergo a physical scan that’s compared to their Imperial Sec file, to make sure they’re really who they say they are. If anybody doesn’t match – it’s a firing squad and then a feast for the dianogas.” She bit her lip to hide a smile as she saw Luke give an involuntary shudder.

“So none of our agents can get in without being detected?” This from Mon Mothma, who clearly understood the implications of what Leia was saying.

“You could throw seventy Luke Skywalkers at the facility and you’d have seventy corpses afterwards.”

“Hey!”

“Relax, farmboy. I’m not sending you in.” She gave him a playful bat on the shoulder. “I’ve got a better idea.”

“Oh?”

“We can’t send in anybody in disguise as Imperial officers, or troopers, or maintenance workers; they’d get caught right away. But there is one group of people that will get in without any trouble. And best of all, they use a different ID database, one that’s bigger and takes a lot longer to send back the results.”

“You mean…”

“Yep. Prisoners.”

“Dammit,” Han broke in, “Breaking into an Imperial prison in disguise is one thing, but I’m not going to let those torturers get their filthy hands on me for all the azurite in Botosee – “

“I wasn’t asking you,” Leia told him. “Or anybody else. I’ll do it.”

Uproar broke out in the room.

“But once they realize who you are—” Luke protested, his voice carrying over the other Rebels’ simultaneous questions with what Leia guessed was just a touch of Force assistance.

“They won’t. I’ll have an excellent disguise courtesy of Covert Ops. And the Empire won’t get their hands on me from anything like a reliable source.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s a band of pirates operating out of Kronos Minor. Sloppy, lazy types, but they’re loyal to the Empire. Figures, right? Anyways, I dangle myself before them in one of the local watering holes, let those nerfheads think they’ve got a real live Rebel princess in front of them. Rebel prisoner, means fat bounty, means big payday. So they pick me up and turn me in to their local garrison—”

“Leia—” Luke interrupted, his eyes locking onto hers with sudden intensity. In her mind came his unspoken words: _are you crazy, don’t you remember what happened on Acquis?_

“ _They pick me up and turn me in_ ,” Leia repeated firmly, returning his gaze and sending the silent reply _: it doesn’t matter, this is for the good of the Alliance, we can talk about it later._

“And the local Imperial seat-warmer contacts Alderaan to send a squad to pick me up,” she went on, addressing herself again to the wider room. “Once the Alderaan guards get a closer look at my disguise, they’ll think the pirates were just being their usual laser-brain selves. But on the off chance they actually have the real Leia Organa, they’ll take me back to Alderaan and throw me in a cell while they wait for my ID to process.”

“And then?”

“Then I use the tools hidden in my fake droid eye to break open the cell from the inside, sneak into the computer core and download the Starkiller data, and escape in a shuttle before anybody realizes what’s happening.”

“Fine. Great. Only one problem that I can see,” said Han. “You don’t have a droid eye, fake or no.”

“Which is exactly why the Imperials are going to be convinced this is all a case of mistaken identity, or an impostor hoping to make creds on the quick. They’re Imps, remember? Self-interested to the bone. Even the top brass at Alderaan would never think anybody’d be crazy enough to poke their own eye out just for the sake of a disguise.”

“But—” Luke interrupted her again.

“Calm down, farmboy. It’s not permanent. I talked to the med-droids. They say they can take out my eye surgically and put it in a bacta tank for safekeeping. Meanwhile they’ll make me a fake prosthetic that looks like a real droid eye, but actually holds the tools I need to break out. It’ll pop right out of the socket when I need it. Crack the outer shell and presto, out come the tools. Then I come back here with the plans and the med-droids put my real eye back in. Easy as baleen pie.”

“I still don’t like it,” Luke said. “It’s too dangerous. We can’t afford to lose you, Leia.” _I don’t want to lose you,_ his voice said in her head.

“I know,” she replied, meeting his anxious gaze, “but it’s the best option we have at this point. We need those plans. And if I’m right, the Imperials won’t even figure out who they really have in custody until it’s too late. With any luck, they won’t realize what hit them until I’m halfway on the hyperjump home in a stolen Tri-wing.”

“The kid’s right, Leia,” countered Han. “As much as we need crazy thinking to take on the Empire, this is _too_ crazy. I don’t like it.”

“Well, what’s _your_ brilliant plan, then, Captain Solo?”

For once, the motor-mouthed sky jockey was at a loss for words. Nor could anyone else come up with an alternative. Even Luke sat silent, clearly unhappy with what Leia had proposed, but unable to think up another, less dangerous method of accomplishing their goals.

“Well, then.” It was Mon Mothma who broke the silence. “It sounds like Princess Leia has given the merits and drawbacks of her plan due consideration. Without any alternatives on offer, I see little choice but to give this plan the authorization of High Command. I will inform Covert Ops and the medical bay to begin the necessary preparations.

“Don’t worry, I’ll come back. No matter what happens. The Empire won’t be blowing up any more planets if I can help it.” Her answer was directed to Mon Mothma, but her eyes as she said it were fixed on Luke in the front row of the briefing room.

A wave of unsettled concern, mixed with compassion and tenderness, rippled out in the Force from him towards her, and she returned Luke’s Force gesture by sending a gust of reassurance and determination in his direction.

“Well, if that’s settled,” the Princess said, “I’m going down to Medical. Got an appointment to get an eye poked out.” She gave Luke a nonchalant wink – meant to convey more optimism about this scheme than she actually had – before heading out through the briefing room door.


	2. seeking the key to Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theory meets reality.

Things hadn’t _quite_ gone according to plan, Leia reflected, as she lay groggy and in pain on the hard plasteel cot of an Alderaan prison cell.

She’d known, going in, that her chosen captors in the first leg of her plan were pirates of the not particularly ethical and not particularly clever variety. That was why she’d chosen them, after all.

She’d figured they would certainly sell her to the Empire.

She’d figured they’d more than likely rape her to the Nine Hells and back first.

 _Right on both counts there,_ she remembered.

She’d never admit it, but that part of things had not been… _entirely_ unpleasant.

What she _hadn’t_ planned for, in retrospect, was how the pirates solved the little problem of her prosthetic eye. Namely, by beating her face in with a rain of heavy blows until she pissed herself and fell unconscious shortly afterward.

By the time she woke up, in a filthy holding cell in the Kronos Minor penitentiary, her arm was broken and the right side of her face was buried beneath an enormous purple bruise. Her nose was crooked and badly swollen, and several of her teeth would probably be fertilizer for whatever local wildlife grew in the foul-smelling drains here.

But with her face mashed in, she’d looked like enough like the Leia Organa of the HoloNet feeds for the dim-witted Imperial police chief of Kronos Minor to put in a call to Alderaan.

Stage One: accomplished.

From her cell near the guards’ console she could overhear bits and snatches of the conversation. It was hard to make out at times, and she badly wanted to lie down and sleep because of the pain, but the gist of it was clear enough. At one point a holocamera in the ceiling turned on briefly, its light stabbing into her good eye, no doubt so the Alderaanian prison officials on the other end of the call could see her face.

Leia could tell the guards on the other end were dubious. They figured, rightly, that the beating was probably hiding some distinguishing mark. They also figured, wrongly, that this was most likely just another false alarm. Scamming the money on a high-profile bounty. Dime a dozen. Predictable.

But better safe than sorry, the voice on the comm said….

…and that was about all she heard before the darkness claimed her.

The next time she woke up, she remembered, she was sitting in shackles on a hard plasteel bench with armored troopers on either side, inside a shuttle on final approach to Alderaan Base.

She cast a quick glance downward, taking stock of her attire, which she’d been too much in pain to do earlier. The pirates had roughly tugged some of her clothing back on before handing her over to the Imps on Kronos Minor. Jacket, pants, belt (minus the credits, of course). But her shoes and shirt and basics were all gone. And what they had returned was filthy and torn, soiled with blood and piss and come.

The troopers had seen it all before, she knew. And they weren’t any different than the pirates, once they took the armor off. Leia remembered Acquis.

So she feigned unconsciousness until the shuttle docked and she was hauled bodily down the ramp. The troopers at either hand gripped her arms securely, pulling her forward along the spotless expanse of hangar as they went, not caring about the pain in her broken left arm that made her bite her lip until it bled.

Then they stopped, jarring Leia’s arm so much that she gave out an involuntary yowl. From across the wide hangar the new warden of Alderaan Base waddled smartly forward to inspect the newest arrival. White tunic, immaculately pressed, encapsulating a grossly obese mound of belly fat underneath. Of course.

He hemmed and hawed as he reached out one flabby hand to cup her face, making her bruises flare in agony; clearly she wasn’t _the_ Leia Organa, but one never knew with Rebels, so maybe they should shoot her right now just to be safe…

She knew _that_ line of thinking had to be shut down before it went further.

Taking some inspiration from the beating she’d had earlier, she waited until his boots were right under her legs – and pissed herself, hard, so that the urine soaked through her trousers and splattered all over the warden’s highly-polished boots.

That bit of impudence earned her another beating, this time from armored fists.

By now her pulpy ruin of a nose lay smashed flat against one cheek, and she probably had more bloody gaps in her mouth than teeth. And they’d broken the fingers of her good hand, just because they could. At least, that was what she realized afterwards, when she woke up inside this last cell; Leia hardly remembered anything after the first punch landed. She was getting rather too accustomed to pain.

At the rate she was going, when she got back ( _if_ , she tried not to think), she could make money for the Alliance by touring planetside in local freak shows.

…Maybe that was the concussion getting to her.

But soiling herself in public to piss off the warden? That was certainly the mark of Outer Rim space trash. Not at all the behavior of a Princess. It sold the deception and kept her alive, even if just to be used as a punching bag. So it had been worth it. More than worth it, when she remembered the shockingly vivid purple color the warden’s face had turned.

Stage Two: accomplished.

_You don’t have to do this,_ Luke had said to her, in the medbay before her surgery. _It doesn’t have to be you. Not after Acquis. I could do it. Let me go instead._

 _Luke,_ she’d told him, _it has to be me **because** of what happened on Acquis. These pirates are the worst sort of ryll-suckers, believe me. I know what they’re probably going to do. I don’t want anybody else to have to go through that._

 _And besides,_ she’d said, running a finger down his Adam’s apple, _you’re a Jedi. That makes you of all people far too valuable to lose. Me? I’m nobody important. Just a Princess of a pile of space dust._

 _You’re not nobody to me,_ he’d said, and his lips met hers.

But now, as she sat up with consciousness coming sluggishly back to her yet again, Leia realized she was faced with an unexpected problem.

The medical droids on the frigate had devised a prosthesis that would pop easily out of her eye socket. When she applied pressure its two halves would spring apart, revealing a miniature kit of tools that would let her break out of her cell.

She hadn’t expected her fake eye to be trapped under an eyelid that was swollen shut from beating upon beating… or to have the choice of removing it with a broken arm or a hand with stiff and broken fingers.

This was going to hurt.

The fake eye was on her right side, so overall, it’d be easier to get it out with her right hand. Even if the fingers on it looked more like stuffed Mantellian sausages.

She began to probe her swollen eyelid, hoping to get it to budge. No dice. The thing was swollen up like a jogan-fruit. Probably even the same color.

She tried to pry the lids apart more forcefully with her pain-racked, shaking fingers. Still nothing.

_Ah, wampa crap._

Leia took a deep breath. Then another.

Some of Luke’s Force-meditation guidance would have been really helpful right about now.

Finally, out of options, she started tearing at her swollen sealed eyelid with her fingernails.

Without conscious thought on her part, her left wrist came up to her mouth and she bit down, using pain to drive out pain.

Blood started coursing down Leia’s face as her nails tore through engorged flesh. Blood welled up from her wrist as her teeth broke the skin on her fractured arm. Her maimed fingers trembled as she willed them to commit unnatural violence on her already tortured body.

At last, her fingertips broke through the layers of torn and blood-slicked flesh, and made contact with a metal sphere.

With a sharp intake of breath, as the mounting agony caused the vision in her good eye to blur and swim alarmingly, Leia curled her stiff fingers round the foreign object… then, with a sudden yank that came more from her elbow than her wounded hand, she tore the prosthesis from her ruined eye socket.

Her hand opened with a spasm and the false eye clattered to the floor.

Leia promptly bent over and heaved her guts out onto the ground.

_Maybe she hadn’t been entirely honest with Luke._

_She hadn’t lied. This was pain of the highest order, and she didn’t want anybody else to suffer this way if it could be avoided. Whatever it took to bring down the Empire, Leia would do. She owed it to her friends. She owed it to her homeworld, to her father, and to everyone else she’d lost._

_But there was a part of her – a small part, but one she couldn’t deny – that found the darker side of her duties alluring. Pleasurable, even._

_Being stripped. Raped. Even beaten like a piece of meat when the occasion called for it._

_She liked the pain._

_It made her feel alive._

_It made her feel like she **mattered**._

_And it was about the farthest thing from being a Jedi that she could imagine._

_But damn if it didn’t make her feel good._

_And as long as nobody else was getting hurt… well, nobody who didn’t thoroughly deserve it… who could blame her?_

A few minutes later – once Leia had regained her composure enough to tear a strip of ragged cloth from her soiled jacket and wind it around the gaping hole in her face – she realized she had another problem.

A small explosive concealed inside the false eye would take care of the door to her cell…. but getting it out of the hollow shell of the prosthesis in the first place felt beyond her at the moment.

Her arms were busted. Her legs felt like jelly – and she didn’t want the explosive to go off by stomping on it accidentally.

That left the oral option.

 _The med droids are going to kill me,_ she thought ruefully. _But at least they’ll have to get in line behind Luke._

Reaching out her left arm, Leia bent down and picked up the blood-covered false eye from the ground, and, ignoring the flaring pain in her forearm as she grasped it, brought the little sphere up to her mouth.

She stuffed it in. It tasted revolting. The blood didn’t help, nor the aftertaste of bile from her earlier vomiting session. No help for it, though.

Leia bit down hard.

A molar decided it had had enough, and slid out of its place in her jaw and down her gullet.

But just as she was starting to fear she’d have to gum the damn thing to death, the troublesome eye gave an almost imperceptible _click_. She spat it out. The two halves separated neatly as they fell, landing next to each other on the hard cot beside her.

And the tools – explosive included – were still in place.

So much pain, so much stress, for such a little thing. But it did the job she’d meant it to, at least.

Right then.

Stage Three: accomplished.


	3. brave swift impetuous female

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leia learns there's more than one way to become a fallen woman.

All things considered, she was incredibly lucky to be alive.

When Leia hypered back to the Alliance fleet in a stolen experimental TIE, half dead with a blood-soaked bandage wrapped around her face and a miniature data disc full of Starkiller’s secrets clutched in one hand, she’d passed out before the automated docking sequence was even complete.

She dreamed that Luke opened the cockpit and pulled her out with unexpected tenderness – or was _she_ Luke, carrying Leia in her arms as she hurtled at full speed to the medbay? She couldn’t tell.

Only later, after she woke up in a medical bed and found Luke sitting by her side, did she learn that it was no dream; she had seen what was happening through his eyes as she slept.

Oddly enough, she’d seen the vision with both eyes, despite only having one.

Whether she’d wake up at all had been a question in itself. But the med droids had accomplished minor miracles. They’d treated her serial concussions, given her a full new set of teeth, and immersed her in bacta to heal the broken bones in her arms; astonishingly, they’d even managed to coax the red shapeless mass at the center of her face into a reasonable facsimile of a human nose.

She wasn’t pretty anymore, not like she had been before Force knew what gave her that nearly fatal brainwave. But she could look herself in the mirror without wanting to revisit her breakfast. That alone was reason to be thankful.

The one thing they couldn’t fix was her eye.

She’d done too much damage when she pulled out the prosthesis, the med-droids told her. The optical nerve was shredded. They couldn’t reattach the eye they’d kept in bacta, or give her a real droid eye. There wasn’t even enough eyelid left there to sew back together. There was simply a gaping hole she’d torn into the right side of her face.

To cover the hole, they gave her a silvery patch that adhered easily to her skin, and could be removed with a simple tug.

Another battle scar for the Alliance.

But her heart ached when she saw how Luke looked at her, out of the corner of her eye, when he thought she wasn’t looking.

That wasn’t the kind of pain she enjoyed.

**_Why do you do this to yourself? Why, Leia?_ **

_Luke, I… there’s something I’m drawn to. Something in the darkness. I can’t explain it._

_You’re a Jedi. You wouldn’t understand._

**_I think I do._ **

_How? How could you understand?_

**_Do you think I haven’t wanted to lash out and strike down big bad Darth Vader with my laser sword? What do you think I was doing when I ran off to face him at Acquis?_ **

_But… I was hurt then. And you wanted…_

**_To hurt the person responsible for hurting you. You understand, don’t you?_ **

_…Yes. I do._

**_It’s part of being one with the Force, Leia. It’s the struggle with the dark side._ **

_But… it’s not just anger and hate. Not just the evil stuff. The pain, when… what they do to me… sometimes… it feels good. The **hurt** feels good._

_You couldn’t understand that, could you?_

**_…I think so. Leia, when Vader cut off my hand, when he told me who he really is…_ **

_I remember._

**_When Vader cut off my hand, the pain was excruciating. But it was nothing compared to the pain I felt when I learned Ben had lied to me._ **

**_But if I hadn’t gone to face Vader at all, if you’d died there… that would have been a thousand times worse than any of it. I couldn’t bear it. If I had to choose between losing a hand and losing you? That’s no choice at all._ **

_And you’d do it again if you had to…?_

**_In a heartbeat._ **

_That’s it exactly. That’s what it is with me._

**_It’s like fine wine. Painful sweetness._ **

_And once you taste it, it’s hard to give it up._

**_I know._ **

_…_

_Luke, what are we going to do if this war ever ends?_

**_You’re always the one coming up with the bright ideas, Leia. You’ll think of something when the time comes. I’m sure of it._ **

_…Thank you, Luke._

**_Sure. Just try to make sure your plans don’t nearly get you killed next time._ **

Leia was barely out of the medbay when the time came for the final battle.

The Alliance couldn’t waste a day. If Starkiller Dreadnought was completed, it could destroy entire star systems, obliterating all resistance to the Empire in a flurry of supernovae. The Rebels had to strike now, before the ship’s hull was completed, while it could still be taken down.

Thus, as Luke confronted Darth Vader for the last time on the surface of the lava moon Condawn, the Rebels engaged the Imperial fleet over the capital world of Had Abbadon. Meanwhile, Han Solo’s crack team of operatives infiltrated the city-planet’s surface, and disabled the shields protecting the Starkiller from attack.

And, flying the experimental TIE fighter she’d stolen in her escape from Alderaan Base, Leia led the Rebel fighter attack on the Emperor’s Starkiller dreadnought.

But soon an energy spike inside the half-completed hull alerted her to the awful truth. Though the dreadnought’s outer hull was still a patchwork of unfinished plating, its superlaser was already operational. And it was warming up to fire.

In a mad attempt to crush the Rebellion once and for all, the Emperor was going to fire the weapon at the sun of his own capital world.

The Starkiller, navicomputer already primed, would jump to hyperspace before the nova hit. But the Rebel fleet, the Imperial fleet, Luke and Vader on Condawn, Han and Chewie’s strike team and everyone else on Had Abbadon… they would all die in the shockwave, friend or foe, loyalist or traitor.

That was the Empire: evil to the core, without mercy, without attachment.

It ended today, Leia vowed.

Taking careful aim at the ship’s exposed superlaser array, she fired her torpedoes, with a little nudge in the Force to guide them as they went.

They were on target. The chain reaction began.

Starkiller Dreadnought consumed itself in flames.

The battle was won. With one blow she’d ended the life of Emperor Pestage and consigned his Empire to the pages of history.

But Leia might not live to see what the next page held.

A piece of the flaming debris from the wreck of Starkiller hit her TIE’s solar fins. Her controls stopped responding as the ship began spinning wildly out of control.

Instead of making a proper landing on a Rebel flight deck, Leia plummeted down in an uncontrolled dive toward Condawn’s fiery surface.

As her TIE fighter screamed down through the atmosphere, heading right for a spire of igneous rock, Leia’s last thought was _If this is how I die, Luke’s going to kill me._

Then the cockpit window leaped up to meet her face.


	4. upon the boiling lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beauty is in the eye socket of the beholder.

“They’re talking about making you interim President of the new Senate. With a fancy sash and everything,” Luke told her, bringing a forkful of mashed cassoyams up to Leia’s mouth.

“Nice,” Leia said, in between bites. “Too bad I won’t be able to see it. You’ll have to tell me if it matches my hair.”

They both laughed.

Two months ago, with Darth Vader not five minutes dead, Luke had watched in horror as Leia’s starfighter had crash-landed on the surface of Condawn.

Running with Force-boosted speed over the jagged plains of the lava planet’s blasted surface, he’d hurried to the crash site. When he arrived, the TIE’s electronics were shot, so he’d sliced open the hatch with his lightsaber.

Thank the stars, Leia was alive… but she was horribly injured.

Her hair was burned off, and she’d broken multiple bones on impact. Worse, a piece of glass from the shattered cockpit window went into her remaining eye. And the prototype TIE’s control board shorted out violently, burning her hands to the bone.

Luke still shuddered when he remembered having to perform a double field amputation with his lightsaber.

But now Leia was safely on board an Alliance hospital frigate – a _New Republic_ hospital frigate, Luke reminded himself – and making preparations for the re-establishment of a Senate after so many years of dictatorial rule.

Most of her injuries had healed by now. Yet for the moment Leia was still stuck in the medical bay – _and still having to use these fucking bedpans as often as not_ , she complained – because the med-droids were still calibrating the motor controls of her prosthetic arms, which they’d held off on installing until Leia was healthy enough to receive them.

And, even after everything else healed, she was still blind. She always would be now.

The second time the wound was less obtrusive; unlike the gaping hole of Leia’s right eye socket, which still had to be covered with a patch, in this case the med-droids had been able to salvage the eyelid and sew it shut neatly. But here too there was no saving her vision.

So it would be as Blind Justice that Leia presided over the New Republic.

The Force worked in mysterious ways, Luke had to admit.

“Hey, farmboy,” Leia said, breaking into his musings. “Forget something? My mouth is up here.”

“Sure thing, Princess. Let me fill it for you.” He grinned as he loaded the utensil with another forkful of cassoyam.

“What color wig do you think I should wear to the opening ceremony?” Leia asked.

Luke said something in reply that she had difficulty understanding; the earpiece squawking reports into her ear took some getting used to, since she’d mostly preferred datapads back when she had eyes.

Whenever Luke was around, she could have him look at a datapad and see what he saw though the Force. But just as Leia was rebuilding the Republic, his task was to rebuild the Jedi Order, and he couldn’t always be at her side. Using the earpiece now was good practice for when Luke was absent.

Through her Force connection she also sensed other things: the pulse of her heart sending blood through her body, the passing of other ships outside the transparisteel window, the way she was spewing particles of half-chewed food as she talked. _I never have been very good at the spic-and-span Princess thing_ , she reflected. _But if I had been I’d probably be space dust right now, along with Father and everyone else back home._

_Rest easy, Father. Your cause is victorious._

“I said, I think your natural color would be fine,” Luke repeated, more loudly this time so that she could hear him over the drone of her earpiece.

She hadn’t asked him to repeat himself, but the Force was a handy tool for knowing when you were getting through or not. And of course, the connection they shared went deep.

As did Luke. Enough to make her toes curl. She couldn’t wait to get out of this stupid hospital bed.

“You just want the carpet to match the drapes, you pleb,” she said with mock hauteur.

Leia didn’t need eyes, or even the Force, to feel the blush on Luke’s cheeks. “What can I say?” he told her. “I’m a Utapau farmboy born and bred.”

She rubbed a cool metal hand absently over the scar tissue of her bald scalp.

“Personally, I’ve always thought I would look good as a redhead…”


	5. but a patched fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whores and politicians lie for a living.

Had Abbadon’s Whitespire brothel hardly lived up to the loftiness of its name. Frankly, it was pretty damn seedy. And its locale in the undercity was the sort of place where nobody from the Sky Districts would be caught dead. Republic or no Republic, old prejudices from the Imperial days died hard. And even in matters of carnality, there were certain standards to be maintained.

So it was only the déclassé sort who patronized this establishment. Spaceport trash, drifters, people the upper-level luminaries would as soon toss off a balcony as look at.

Even on the rare occasions somebody from the upper districts happened to “accidentally” get lost and wound up in this particular brothel, they hardly glanced at the faces of the benighted plebeian whores who serviced their lusts. Being horny tended to put blinders on people, and horny aristocrats were afflicted even more than most.

But if one’s standards weren’t permanently stuck in the rarefied levels of Abbadonian elite snobs, this was a place where visitors could find fleshly pleasures they’d never even dreamed of.

As for the regular Whitespire clientele, one of the most popular working girls there was a Miraluka called Raya with a penchant for footjobs.

And if a patron asked the burly Quarren bouncer for a whore who “didn’t mind a bit of the rough stuff”, Raya was definitely his first recommendation.

Crazy as a bedbug, that one.

When Leia first mentioned the idea to him, Luke was incredulous.

But the more he thought it over, the more he realized it was precisely what she needed.

It wasn’t easy to deal with some of those Senators. With the Jedi Order coming back into being, Luke had sat on enough committee meetings to understand completely if Leia just wanted to clear her head with a cavalcade of cocks.

And after all they’d dealt with on the front lines of the Rebellion, he and Leia both still had so much trauma to work through… if this was what she needed, could he really stand in her way?

So he put in a few discreet inquiries, “for Jedi covert missions,” and before long had managed to find everything needed for Leia to establish a second identity as a spaceport whore.

Sometimes he dropped in to Whitespire himself, anonymity conferred by a rinse-out temporary dye job and a matching stick-on goatee. This particular client always stuck to his favorite good-time girl “Raya”… though she wasn’t above bringing in some partners of her own.

Her war wounds still gave her the occasional handicap. With or without fake flesh, Leia complained to him, droid hands were perfectly serviceable for most things, but they were hardly ideal for dealing with throbbing organic cocks. Still, she made do. Necessity was the mother of invention.

She really did give expert footjobs.

And if anyone making use of her “services” hurt her too much, all she had to do was drop a word in the right ear… and not long afterwards a stranger with a passing resemblance to Luke Skywalker, Jedi Master, would make sure they never repeated that mistake.

By now the routine of changing from Leia to Raya was a familiar one. Just a few items were needed: things she kept securely hidden, in a secret closet behind the outer closet that housed her senatorial wardrobe.

She put on a wig that mimicked her lost hair astonishingly well, and adhered to her scalp as strongly as real tresses when somebody tugged on it – a critical thing given the sort of clients “Raya” liked.

Synthskin sleeves to hide her mechanical arms.

Another synthskin patch, stuck to her face, custom-made to conceal the gaping hole where her right eye wasn’t.

And finally, she removed the little gold locket around her neck – one of several similar designs she always wore in public, each with a hidden holo-emitter inside, putting forth a minor but very important piece of disinformation.

Leia Organa, presiding minster of the New Republic, was famous for her mangled nose earned in the fight against the Empire.

Raya, Miraluka whore of the undercity, had a lovely nose that was petite and well-formed.

She’d had it fixed in secret. In the wake of the carnage of the Civil War, medical science was making truly astonishing advances.

But having well-known scars could still bring her political dividends… and also kept people in the dark about her nighttime hobbies.

Whoring herself out was a great way of blowing off some steam at the end of a long day of Senate hearings – and of indulging the darker impulses that still whispered to her, even now with the War receding into the past.

Still, there was one thing she didn’t take with her to Whitespire.

Only her Jedi – beloved Luke, the light in her soul that nothing could extinguish – only Luke got to fuck her in the eye socket.


End file.
